


Memory

by masulevin



Series: Hazel Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horizon (Mass Effect), Kaidan Porn Week, Masturbation, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-06 06:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Stuck on Horizon two years after Shepard's death over Alchera, Kaidan works out some tension using some old photographs they took together.





	Memory

Kaidan settles into his bed with the kind of bone-deep weariness he’s come to expect from working on Horizon. The emotional strain of working with colonists who want nothing to do with the Alliance or any of the protections it can offer them combined with the long hours and the lack of contact with anyone but Anderson back in Council space… it weighs on his shoulders and presses him into the mattress and makes him feel like he won’t be able to get back up again in the morning.

It’s an ache deep in his bones, a throbbing in his temples that threatens to turn into a migraine if he doesn’t get some sleep or relieve some tension soon, an emptiness in his chest that’s been there for nearly two years. He presses his knuckles against the emptiness, just over his breastbone, and pushes in until the pain radiates across his ribs. He exhales sharply, opening his eyes to stare at the dark ceiling above his head, and runs his fingers into his hair instead.

He tugs at the dark strands that are starting to turn white until the sharp pinpricks of pain become too much and he has to relax his hands. His scratchy sheets irritate his already overheated skin and tighten the coil of anxiety in his chest. He squirms around, trying to get comfortable, and finally sighs as he gives up.

He hasn’t been comfortable since the night before Alchera. Finding a better spot won’t help him now.

He chews on the inside of his lip as he waits for his body to relax enough to fall asleep. Minutes tick by, leaving him still as wide-awake and yet bone-tired as he was when he gave up working past midnight and climbed into bed. His mind keeps presenting him with memories of things he doesn’t want to remember -- everything that happened on Eden Prime, the Thorian, Cerberus’ experiments, all things that fuel his nightmares and have no business in his waking thoughts -- and he growls under his breath in resignation.

Giving up on sleeping for now, he pulls up his omnitool to find something to distract himself from his eddying thoughts. He just needs to be tired enough to fall asleep, that’s all…

His idly browsing fingers take him along a well-traveled path until he’s staring at a series of encrypted files he knows he should delete but can’t bring himself to remove. He hesitates with his finger over the first one, shame warring with longing warring with arousal, before finally giving in and selecting it to open.

Hazel Shepard’s smiling face is the first thing he sees. It’s a soft smile, just for him, taken during a private moment on the Citadel. His heart clenches at the sight of her dark eyes and the scar curving across her nose and cheek. He loves the way her upper lip is more full than the bottom but they both curve up at the corners just the same and the way she always tilted her head to the side a bit when she laughed.

The next picture is one on the Normandy, in her cabin. She’s wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, sitting on the edge of the bed with one long leg stretched out in front of her, a shy smile directed at his face over the camera lens.

He knows what’s coming next before he opens the file. It’s another photo from her cabin, taken at her suggestion, of her kneeling between his legs. She’s looking right into the lens this time, her lips parted and her eyes dark, already aroused by the game they were playing. He can see the curves of her breasts and her dark nipples, pulled into points in the cool air of her room, and he licks his lips as he remembers the way they tasted on his tongue.

He squirms again, trying to find a more comfortable position as his body reacts to these pictures like it always does. He begins to harden, and he takes a moment to press the heel of his hand against his growing erection. 

The next photo still shows her on her knees, but she’s leaning back slightly so he can see her hand between her thighs. He remembers she was already wet from teasing him, that she’d gathered it up on her fingers and used it to tease her clit before offering her fingers to him to taste. He can still remember her flavor, how he always wanted to bury his face between her legs for hours without coming up for air.

He reaches under his sheet and into the loose sleeping pants he prefers when not in his own home, fingering the tip of his erection with gentle fingers. His eyes flutter shut and he groans silently. He strokes himself fully now, grasping his cock in a tight fist, a slow up-and-down that makes him sigh and tip his head back.

The friction of his dry hand against the smooth skin of his cock is almost uncomfortable, but it’s soon aided by a drop of precome at the tip that he gathers up and smooths down the shaft. He opens his eyes and looks back at Hazel’s picture, his memory supplying details that the still picture can’t: the way she nibbled on the lower lip, the way she sighed and moaned softly, even when just touching herself, the confident way she’d cleaned her own fingers off with her tongue when she decided she was ready to join him on the bed.

He moves his hand faster, wishing he’d had the forethought to bring lube or a toy with him to this backwater colony, twisting his wrist at the apex of each stroke. He pauses to push his pajama pants over his hips, pushing them and the sheet away to expose his heated skin to the cool air of his room. He props himself up at the head of the bed, spreading his knees to give himself more room to work. His heart is already starting to pound, all his tension transforming into an arousal swirling around old memories.

The next picture is one she’d taken and sent him later that night, after he was too far gone to focus on anything else other than the feeling of sinking into her over and over. She’s on her knees, and he’s behind her, holding her tight with one hand on the scar on her hip and the other on her breast, just holding her tight as he fucked her, caught up in the mood of the night. Her eyes are bright, her face and chest flushed red from arousal. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, one arm stretched out to capture the photo, her other hand on the back of his head, pulling his hair.

He’s biting the back of her neck in this photo, he remembers. That’s why she was biting her lip like that, holding back a surprised moan that she had to muffle on the ship. She was always much louder when they had space and privacy, like during their time on the Citadel. He loved when she was loud, and she loved the feeling of his teeth on her bare skin.

_ “Fuck,” _ he hisses, a heartfelt word muttered unintentionally under his breath. He moves his hand faster, more precome gathering and helping the slide of skin on skin. He leans his head against the wall behind him, pressing his lips together to hold in his quiet moans. Each pump of his hand over his heated skin pushes him closer to the edge, coming faster than it should after so much time.

He takes another long look at the photo, at the way he’s clutching Hazel’s body to his own, and then drops that hand to his sac. His motions are harsh, desperate, entirely focused on finding his end. He rolls his balls in one hand while he pumps his cock with the other, letting memories of Hazel wash over him.

He can feel his balls tightening, feel the pleasure sparking from deep inside and flowing up his spine. Sweat drips from the back of his knees where his legs are bent and spread, another moan falls unbidden from his lips, and he curls in on himself as he comes across his stomach.

He strokes himself through the aftershocks, shuddering with each new spurt of come, and his body slowly relaxes as the tension bleeds out of his limbs. He cleans his stomach and pulls his pants back on, turning over to stretch out on his stomach before opening his omnitool for one last picture.

She took this one too, after they were done that night. He was embarrassed, flushed and disheveled, and he’d pressed his face against her cheek to hide from the camera. She was smiling though, as happy and carefree as he’d ever seen her, high spots of color still on both her cheeks. She looked so beautiful, so in love, like she was really having fun with him despite everything.

He stares at that picture until sleep finally claims him.


End file.
